In Aeternum
by Steely Charm
Summary: My collection for the Summer 2013 Wizarding Modly Forum-Wide Comp of Awesomeness (HPFC). Rated T only for swearing. 1: OC, 2: Sirius Black and James Potter, 3: Lily Evans and James Potter, 4: Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, 5: Peter Pettigrew, 6: Snily, 7: Bellatrix Black
1. Battle of Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

**Written for the Summer 2013 Wizarding Modly Forum Wide Competition of Awesomeness  
**

**Challenge 1 (History of Magic) **

**Option C: **Write about a moment - its build up, as it happened, its effects, anything to do with the moment - that could have or did go down in history. Stipulation: write from at least two perspectives. Extra stipulation: as paying attention is so difficult, you'll also need to include at least four of the ten following prompts: sent, century, grand, war, facts, pain, save, end of an era, dry, "Kill me now."

_**Ravenclaw; Wand (unknown); Full score (PM please)**_

* * *

_4__th__ December, 2015. Professor Scrunchy's History of Magic class_

_Elsie's Journal_

Winter has fallen upon Hogwarts with all the swiftness of Death. The sun has not been seen in days for the cover of moody grey clouds; snow falls in regular intervals that at first the majority of students were pleased about, but now, days later, the novelty of building snowmen and having snow fights has died away to a nonexistence. The stone walls of Hogwarts do little to trap in the heat of fires and heating charms. History of Magic is my second class, and I know that my peers will be eagerly looking forward to whiling away the time sleeping.

For once, however, it is too cold to fall asleep in class today. I am inclined to think that the frigidness we are exposed to is entirely deliberate, a sneaky ploy on the Professor's part. I think she knows, though it is rare for her to show or care about it, that the combined power of warmth and her monotonous voice is too much for the weaker of my classmates, and that when the two are put together, my lesser classmates can't ever help themselves but fall into a deep slumber, a sleep from which they are unable to be roused from by nought for the bell.

Others, I know, are physically unable to imagine that such a dull person could be capable of intelligence. They chose to believe that the Professor is too incompetent to light a fire or cast a warming charm, and thus don't realise the simply brilliancy of her negligence. If the Professor successfully keeps the classroom a few degrees below freezing, all of us, whether we want to or not, take in some of what she is saying.

Today her topic of choice is the famous Battle of Hogwarts, a piece of our history we have all been waiting eagerly to hear her take on.

The Battle of Hogwarts is a story we all know something of. Witch or wizard; pureblood, muggle-born, squib or half-blood. We have all heard a least a snippet of it. The lucky ones heard the whole, grand tale from somebody who was actually there, actually had a part, no matter how insignificant, in the Battle. Everybody else was suspect to garbled retellings from sloppy, unknowledgeable storytellers and exaggerators. Classmates or cousins, that uncle you usually try to avoid, the Professor who everybody knows deigned to hide in his classroom during the whole thing, but makes out like he really didn't. The essence, however, is still there, and the ending is always the same.

Coming from a proud, Slytherin born and bred family, the version I heard was far less truthful than usual. Clarence and Ethel were more or less forced to play up their and my cousin's part in it; to make our family seem less like the cowards they were (are) and more like their old rivalries, brave Gryffindors.

* * *

_Ethel's story of the Battle of Hogwarts, as told by Ethel to Elsie. _

_Recorded by Elsie in Elsie's Journal, 4th December, 2015  
_

"The Battle of Hogwarts took place on the 2nd of May, 1998, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Remember I explained Horcruxes to you?"

(Ethel asked me. I was very young, and I thought I knew all. I nodded wisely from where I was curled up.)

"Well, Harry Potter discovered that Lord Voldemort had created them. He had to search Hogwarts to find the last ones. The Lord couldn't die unless they were destroyed. The Lord knew Potter was doing this, so he gathered his army and ordered an attack on the school. None of them expected Hogwarts to fight back. It was a ghastly, awful battle. There were many casualties, on both sides. Lord Voldemort himself fell, at the hands of Harry Potter.

As Slytherins, Clarence, I and some of your cousins were looked as being followers of Lord Voldemort."

(I had looked up at that. I had heard from Clarence and Ethel stories of the horrific things Lord Voldemort did, to hear that they were thought to be sided with him…)

"Elsie, you have to understand. We, by no means, were followers of Lord Voldemort. Oh, no! Our family would never have followed such a weak person. He was, after all defeated by a mere child, again and again!"

(Ethel had looked pleadingly at me, begging me to believe her, but I was an intelligent child. Ethel had shared a desperate look with Clarence, who had shrugged helplessly back.)

"Our courageous, strong family did their part in changing the world, Elsie. Remember that."

* * *

_4__th__ December, 2015. Professor Scrunchy's History of Magic class_

_Elsie's Journal_

To this day, I can't bring myself to believe Ethel's retelling. I think, however, Professor Scrunchy's shows more insight, and more facts than fiction. Professor Scrunchy was still, as per usual, slow in her beginnings, but she magically, it seemed, expanded her vocabulary. It was almost as though she was trying to ingrain curiosity and apprehension in us with her careful drawl and rolling of her words. I think she was there, but she never specifies.

* * *

_Professor Scrunchy's version of the Battle of Hogwarts, as told by the Professor to the Ravenclaws and Slytherins. _

_Recorded by Elsie in Elsie's Journal, 4th December, 2015.  
_

"On the 2nd of May, 1998, Hogwarts almost fell, and the Wizarding world was nearly changed for the worse. The Battle of Hogwarts was a conflict that signified the end of the Second Wizarding War. It took place in the early hours of 2 May, 1998, within the castle and on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, after Lord Voldemort's discovery that Harry Potter, the Lord's famously known enemy, the Boy-Who-Lived and only person to have survived all three Unforgivable Curses, was in the castle to locate and destroy one of his final Horcruxes.

Horcruxes are a particularly evil magic that destroys the soul, but makes one immortal, as long as the Horcrux or Horcruxes are not destroyed. Lord Voldemort sent every Death Eater and creature that had pledged loyalty to him to attack the school, in the fear that Harry Potter may succeed and in the hopes of finally ridding the world of Harry Potter, his only living adversary. Hogwarts retaliated, to Lord Voldemort's surprise. Three of the four Houses untied. Gryffindors. Ravenclaws. Hufflepuffs. Friends helped foes. Children fought for the good of their world. Many lost their lives.

Lord Voldemort came close to defeating Hogwarts, but Harry Potter once again saved the day."


	2. Not Unlike Padfoot

**Author's Note:**

**Written for the Summer 2013 Wizarding Modly Forum Wide Competition of Awesomeness  
**

**Challenge 2 (Defence Against the Dark Arts)**

******Strategy 1:** Defend. Use protection and barrier magicks to drive back Dark forces and to keep yourself and others from harm. Write a story about a character defending another character from something, e.g. a Dark creature, bullies, untrue (or, perhaps, true) rumours... anything that that character might need defending from counts.

**Ravenclaws**, you're knowledgeable, but not the most practical or good at applying that knowledge, and you can be a bit too straight-forward too. Like the Slytherins, you also are at a greater risk of being seduced by the Dark Arts. If you write about a character not on the dark side, you'll receive a bonus of 3 points this round.

_**Ravenclaw; Wand (unknown); Full score (PM please)**_

**This chapter does not continue on from the first challenge. **

**Be warned- there is some swearing.**

* * *

James wagged Arithmancy to go find Sirius. It didn't take him long. His best friend had his tendencies, and sure enough, James found Sirius not twenty metres away from Professor McGonagall's classroom.

Sirius was leaning oh-so-casually against a pillar, a half-smoked fag dangling from his lips. He didn't look up as James approached, and didn't acknowledge him as James slouched beside Sirius in a pose that came naturally.

"Aren't you just begging to be caught," James remarked lightly as he snatched the forgotten fag from Sirius' mouth and re-lit it with the end of his wand.  
The motion seemed to rouse Sirius. He straightened slightly, his distant expression melting away like butter to be replaced with broodiness.

"Anything, anything at all, to not be bored." The words were dragged from Sirius' mouth almost painfully in a voice James didn't recognise. James tried hard to hide his worry, James' eyes flicking up only once to analyse Sirius' face before he turned his head to the side and puffed out a breath of smoke.

"My sentiment exactly."

"You love Arithmancy," Sirius pointed out, accepting the offered fag back from James.

"There comes a time in one's life, brother, when the need of a friend must overlook the need of one's self," James said airily, and Sirius almost smiled.

"Who said that?"

"Me." Another last, lingering puff, and then James stamped out the fag, sweeping away the ashes with his foot. He grimaced.

Time to stop procrastinating.

"Do I need to ask the big, deep questions, or can you save us the time and just tell me the matter?"

James faced Sirius, unabashedly trying to read Sirius' thoughts off of his face, as only James could.

Underneath Sirius' feigned façade of nonchalance, however, there was something utterly foreign to James and with startling occurrence, James realised that maybe he no longer knew Sirius better than anyone else in the world. Perhaps that title went to Remus now.

"You know, Jamsie-boy. Don't pretend otherwise. It's not as though Moony would go to Pete, now is it?" Sirius' face darkened; his eyes flashed a warning. James sighed internally, feeling irrationally angry, and deep down more than a little sad.

"It will be okay, Pads," James said, softly.

"It will be okay, because it has to be. We are the Marauders, remember? Nothing can, or will, change that. I won't let it," James added, fiercely.

Several heartbeats passed as James floundered for something to add to his obviously unimpressive speech. Then Sirius nodded.

Relief. James clapped Sirius on the shoulder. He produced another fag, and was just about to hand it to Sirius when something purple went ricocheting off the stone floor a pace away from them.

"What the…" James began, but then his brain caught up to his eyes and he saw what Sirius had already taken note of.

Five murderous looking Slytherins were stomping down the corridor towards Sirius and James, all of them with their wands drawn.

"Think it's too late to go back to 'rithmancy?" James asked quietly, even as he rolled his shoulders in preparation for the fight that was most definitely coming. The corner of Sirius' mouth curled up.

James sized the Slytherins up as he pulled out his wand.

Two of the Slytherins were about as big as James and Sirius put together; the leader and a crony to his left. All five of the Slytherins, James knew, were a thousand times stupider than even Peter.

Sirius and James stepped away from the pillar, arranging themselves to eye the five bullies off.

The burly Slytherin in the middle, Avery, James' mind supplied, was the obvious leader.

"Look who it is, boys," the wand-brandishing leader drawled.

Avery and his cronies halted five metres away from Sirius and James, a maniac grin twisting Avery's mouth unpleasantly.

"The disowned faggot." Sirius stiffened. Avery grinned knowingly, and with a flick of his wrist fired another wordless purple curse at Sirius that Sirius only just managed to dodge in time.

"Fuck! What the hell is this fucking about, Avery?" Sirius shouted furiously, his eyes gleaming with adrenaline and every pent up emotion he had repressed over the past few days. Red sparks flew out of the end of Sirius' wand.

"Boys, I think it's time we taught the shirt-lifter that there is no place for faggots at Hogwarts." Sirius snarled, the barb hitting target. James grabbed at Sirius' arm before Sirius could take a step forwards.

"I don't know if that is the brightest idea I have ever heard. Actually, I don't think it comes even fucking close," James spat. Avery smirked, oozing self confidence.

"With the odds of five against one?" James and Sirius gave Avery a dumbfounded look.

"Five against _two_," Sirius drew out the word, gesturing at James first then himself second.

"You, fruitcake, don't count," the Slytherin said dismissively, waving his hand at Sirius.

James' vision flooded red, but it was, of course, Sirius who snapped at that. Sirius growled menacingly, not unlike Padfoot, and James didn't stop Sirius from ripping his sleeve from James' grasp.

Sirius launched himself forwards, his hands going straight for the Avery's throat. Avery, still congratulating himself on successfully getting a rise out of the famous Marauder, didn't bring up his wand fast enough to react.

Without a second thought, James joined Sirius, slamming his fist into the closest cronies' face. Blood exploded from the Slytherin's broken nose, and the crony howled. James sent a well aimed kick to the cronies' stomach and was rewarded with a grunt. The crony fell to the floor.

James spun wildly.

"Protego!" He shouted, the shield protecting Sirius' back from a stupefy. The spell unfortunately drew James to the attention of two of the cronies.

James backed away slowly as the two Slytherins advanced, his eyes carefully scrutinising them for the perfect moment to act as his thoughts raced. He recalled a spell they had learnt over a year ago in one particularly memorable Defence Against the Dark Arts class and prayed that he would be able to pull it off wordlessly.

One of the Slytherins shifted like he was going to send a spell James' way, and James decided that was his sign.

In one movement he dashed forwards and slashed his wand. The Slytherins tripped over empty air to sprawl ungracefully on the floor.

"Wa-hoo!" James cheered, and then a second later,

"Ohh, no."

The curse hit him in the stomach and James went flying.

James' head cracked against the far wall, and the pain of it sent James spiralling down to the silence of darkness.


	3. A Handful of Stars

**Author's Note:**

**Written for the Summer 2013 Wizarding Modly Forum Wide Competition of Awesomeness**

**Challenge 3 (Astronomy)**

**Option C:** You can't figure out why Astronomy is in any way related to Magic and you're beginning to think this class is a waste of your time. But Professor Nami catches you goofing off and gives you a detention. Your Task: Write a fic about Astronomy's connection to Magic. Stipulation: It must actually be a story, it must be creative and interesting, and not an essay that restates a Wikipedia page.

Ravenclaws are, in general, perhaps the most suited house for Astronomy. Their quick minds easily see and remember the connections between the stars, their placement in the night sky, and their curiosity about the world around them means they tend to have a natural interest in this. 12 bonus points will be awarded to any Ravenclaw who enters. 1 more can be earned if the author demonstrates knowledge of astronomy/space in their story.

_**Ravenclaw; Wand (unknown); Full score (PM please)**_

* * *

She was called 'mudblood', again, in front of her entire Transfiguration class. The one who had called her the foul name was no more than an attention-seeking Slytherin with a brain the size of a peanut, and Lily had instantly sliced him to ribbons with witty retorts until the shame-faced Slytherin had looked ready to cry.

It had been easy. Defending her blood-status came naturally now and Lily was well-practised at it. For no matter how bright and intelligent she was, no matter how friendly and kind, no matter how _hard_ she tried, they still didn't think she belonged. She had proved herself, a thousand times over, and yet that didn't change the fact that she had two muggle parents, and therefore was inferior to the rest of the Wizarding World.

_Mudblood_. She loathes that term with a passion she doesn't feel for anything else. She hates that when those eight little letters are strung together and aimed at her they cut her deep.

It is on days like today that she thinks she's made the wrong choice.

Wanting peace and to be able to think without interruption, Lily fled Gryffindor Tower at twilight and went and settled herself on the rocks opposite the Black Lake with a book she had no intentions of reading and a blanket to ward off the coldness of the falling night.

Thoughts she had held back through sheer force of will have started breaking her flimsy blockade.

If only she had rejected her letter to Hogwarts. If only she hadn't been so stupidly, stubbornly proud of being unique and _special_. She would still be on speaking terms with her sister Petunia. She would be at some nice private school, learning perfectly, wonderfully _ordinary_ things. She would be dating boys and having the time of her stress-free life.

She gave up on so much for _what_? What is so good about magic? What is so good about the Wizarding world, about being a witch, when you are shunned for something you can't control?

Tears fall silently down Lily's face as she considers that; she doesn't brush them away.

Magic, magic, _was it worth it_?

A breeze blows from the south, ruffling her loose hair and making her toes curl in protest.

It is freezing. Time has ceased to stop. There is just Lily and her regrets, until suddenly, the sound of loose stones rouses her from her melancholy thoughts.

Lily looks up from her knees to find that it has become a truly, scary kind of dark. Her tears have long since dried. There are no clouds in the sky tonight; only pretty, shining stars and the bulbous moon that is their King.

She wonders, somewhat uncomfortably, if she should get back to the castle, but before she can motivate herself enough to gather her things, there is a resounding _crack._

Something is coming.

Lily freezes for a millisecond. She's alone, and though she can handle herself with her wand, her wand is _not in her hand_.

Time fragments. She's scrabbling around for her wand, instinctively chanting _lumos, lumos, lumos_ in her head. Book, blanket, stone, stick… Desperation has her heart thumping loudly. Her wand was _right beside her_.

_Finally_. A flare, and then she is on her feet and twirling around to face her would-be attacker, but she doesn't get a chance to shriek a curse before recognition registers.

"Potter?" She blinks furiously. The light coming from the end of her wand glints off of Potter's glasses and relief slams into her to knock her breathless.

The bespectacled boy flinches.

"You don't think you could stop shinning your wand into my face, Evans?"

"Oh, sorry…" Wait, what is she sorry for? She's not the one creeping up behind solitary girls and giving them a hell of a fright. She keeps her wand where it is.

"What are you doing, Potter, sneaking up behind me like that?!" She's shouting, but she can't help it. Her pent up emotions are exploding, and he's their target.

"I came only to check on you. I was worried." He was worried. Right. Lily snorts, shaking her head.

Out of nowhere, she feels very tired. Lily collapses down onto her blanket, drawing it back up around herself. She hears Potter join her after a moment's hesitation. Her lit wand sits between them, and she can just see his outline.

"How did you know-"

"You're remarkably predictable when you're upset, Evans," James says near cheerfully, and Lily shoots him a look, but doesn't get a chance to respond when he continues;

"At any rate, it is rather an excellent night to stargaze."

James actually sounds _dreamy_. What has the world come to? Troublemaker James with his arrogant nature and big head likes to _stargaze_?

"You stargaze?" There, in her voice, is evidence of her utter disbelief.

"Sirius and Remus," James says, as if that explains all, which to him it probably does. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and he tips his head back. She shuts her ajar mouth with a sharp _click_. She can see tiny dots of light reflected in his eyes.

"Look, you see, right there? That's Aquarius, your star sign."

"I don't-"

"Here." James shuffles alarmingly closer. He guides her arm to point at a cluster of big stars that are each vivider and far more dazzling than the ones surrounding. Surely he can feel her pulse thrumming?

"Sadalmelik. Sadalsud…"

Nonsense. She has taken Astronomy for six years, and she still can't keep up with the random facts he is spilling. She lets his spiel wash over her for a minute before she decides she can't handle it anymore.

"James-"

"Oh, sorry, you have no idea what I'm talking about." He blushes, dropping her arm.

It hits her then that usually she would take immense pleasure in reducing this infuriating boy to blushing, but now she only feels curiosity. Maybe it's because she is feeling fragile and empathetic.

Lily can't quite look away from James, and James can't stop staring at the sky.

"It's just… The stars are incredible, don't you think? They just… You can read your destiny in the stars, you know. Your dreams, your hopes, your love, your beginning, your end… It's all up there, for those who chose to look carefully. The stars are my favourite part of the Wizarding world. Everybody tries so hard to find magic and create magic, but the stars just _are_ magical. They're in a world of their own."

Lily doesn't know James Potter quite as well as she thought she did. She thinks of how very much she wants to know that magic is worth everything she no longer has.

She rests her head against his shoulder, and wills her thoughts to stop spinning.

"James. Show me magic," she whispers softly.

Everything turns into a mystery, Lily has found, under a handful of stars.


	4. The Pretence of Knowing

**Author's Note:**

**Written for the Summer 2013 Wizarding Modly Forum Wide Competition of Awesomeness**

**Challenge 4 (Charms)**

**Option B:** You are a very proficient charms-worker, and your favourite charm is Lumos. When you light up the tip of your wand, it seems like hope in a dark time. Your task: Write a war fic. Stipulation: This fic must be over 2k-after all, you're good at this!

**_Ravenclaw; Wand (unknown); Full score (PM please)_**

**Written for the Opposite Day Challenge**

Your challenge, because of your love for Wolfstar, is to write a story that separates them forever (break-up basically).

* * *

You place your suitcase down in front of your feet.

You take off your cloak and fold it neatly across your arm because it is too warm; you are, admittedly, nervous. A shaky hand runs down the front of your robes to straighten them. A finger sweeps stray hair out of your eyes, brushing against the new, raised scar on your cheek as it does so. Your right shoulder gives a _twinge_ of annoyance; you have used the wrong arm, the injured one.

You go rigid. You squelch a weary sigh; you wince. You know what is coming next and you are embarrassingly _helpless_ to stop it.

The awful, horrible circumstances of the last month, the happenings that put you where you are now, begin to play over in your head.

Fragments. Images of blood; remembrance of bruises. The full moon; that brilliant orb that is your biggest fear. _Howling_ and _scratching_ and the fights to the death you witnessed and _did nothing to stop_.

You had _no power_ to interfere in the ways of the rogue werewolves, but guilt is ever present, a constant weight curving your shoulders in and shadowing your eyes.

That, you imagine, is a fact, even if you haven't as yet confirmed it.

You are held in the grips of your memories, and it takes longer than you would ever care to admit to physically shove them back into their figurative little box in the corner of your mind.

By the time you have achieved this, your breath is unsteady and a tension you can't shake has riddled your body.

You have been standing motionless for not-quite four minutes.

It has now been forty five days, nine hours and three minutes since you have seen Sirius, and you are more anxious than you were before. It has, by no means, been the longest time you have been away from him, but it feels likes it.

Isn't it funny how war can change _everything_? A man, his dreams, his morals? Right or wrong; every decision could mean life or death. What you originally thought you had no stomach for becomes a regularity. The worst parts about yourself are brought to light. Relationships become distant; suddenly you can't remember how your lover likes to spend his free time. You have nothing to talk about, but you have so much to say.

When the world is at war, forty five days can be a lifetime.

You have altered over the time you were away, and not for the better, you don't believe. You wonder with something akin to dread if Sirius will notice, if he will _care_.

A violent shudder ripples through your body.

How much has Sirius too differed in forty five days?

_Is it hypocritical for you to hope not too much?_

_Enough_, you think.

It is okay. It is all going to be absolutely _fine_ when you see Sirius again.

You relax your stance, and somehow dredge up a natural smile to grace your lips. You knock once on the apartment door, just under the silver number 153, a sharp _rap-tap-tap_.

The closest thing you have felt to excitement in a long time bubbles up, and you actually feel _impatient_.

A minute (you are, unabashedly, counting the seconds) and then two.

Usually after a mission you report first to Dumbledore, but this time you had a concerning feeling that seeing Sirius was more important.

Receiving no answer only works to crystallize your fear. You are instantly, perhaps unfoundedly, put on alert.

You smoothly draw your wand, aiming it directly at the ground, and you close your eyes.

You _listen_, carefully, with a werewolf's heightened hearing. In apartment 151, someone, a male, evidently, by the heavy, laborious breathing, is watching the much-loved-by-muggles television. In apartment 155, a woman sings out of tune.

No sound is emitting from behind the closed door in front of you.

You sniff delicately. Immediately you are assaulted with _scent_.

Rust and mould that is the very essence of the building.

Lavender. Honey. Paper. Ink.

Chocolate and dust and antiseptic that is undeniably _you_.

Wet dog and treacle and mud that is _Sirius_.

The smell of you is strong but Sirius, you can tell, has not been back home for a while; days, even. You inhale, and hold your breath.

You can't get enough of the reminder of Sirius. You miss him. You are _craving_ more of him, and this tiny, lingering _sliver_ of him is not enough.

_Where is your Padfoot?_

You exhale, reopening your eyes to view in a calculating manner the hallway to your left and right.

There is nobody around.

You tap your wand once to the worn wood, a soft_ alohomora_ leaving your lips. There is a click; another rap of your wand and the apartment door opens up under its own steam.

You don't move to walk inside.

Instead, you reel in your magic. You focus on envisioning wards lines, and sure enough, they appear. They criss-cross in the air between the edges of the doorframe, and you notice that they are not as strong as they should be.

Why hasn't Sirius redone them?

They are crackling an unfriendly blue. You designed them so that would be deadly for anyone not permitted to walk through them.

You raise you wand and touch the tip of it to the mid-air, frazzled knot bunching the wards all together.

A small spark and the knot unravels. The blue mellows out; you have been accepted. Quickly, you pick up your battered suitcase and step through the thin opening between the wards before it can close again. You slam and lock the door behind you.

To be honest, the silence scares you. You did not expect to come home to an empty apartment.

You take another step forward, and automatically reach to hang up your cloak on the hat stand you brought a year ago.

That done, you focus returns to other, worrisome matters.

There is an odd feeling to the apartment. Emptiness. Abandonment. It is dreadfully cold and the air is stale.

"Sirius?" you call in soft voice, because things are never what they seem.

Nothing changes.

"Sirius?" Again, and slightly louder this time, but your voice only echoes back. A swift, effortless spell and you are proven to be truly alone.

There is a half-drunk mug of coffee balanced precariously on the armchair of the ugly fluorescent orange couch. The main light is still on; the blinds are still pulled closed. A t-shirt has been thrown over a lampshade; there is floo powder scattered over the rug in front of the fireplace, and grey ashes where there should be stacked wood. Random books are haphazardly piled about.

You take all of this in and more, but you are incapable of_ processing_ it. You can't think, not yet, of what it all means.

The black photo frame on the mantelpiece that used to hold an image of you and Sirius wrapped up in each other is mysteriously vacant.

You drift through the ajar door leading into the kitchen.

Dirty dishes. An open window you move disjointedly to shut mindlessly; half-sealed letters. A two-day old edition of the Daily Prophet that has been used to mop up something unidentifiable; something that wasn't a foul, brown crust.

Everything screams of _use_. It is like Sirius was in the middle of doing all of these tasks, but abruptly had to leave before he could complete any of them.

_Why?_

_Where is Sirius now?_

The logical part of you considers that maybe Sirius was called away for a mission for the Order. These missions come more frequently nowadays; they are nothing out of the ordinary, you have to admit, sadly.

And, yet.

You have no way of contacting Sirius. These are, after all, dangerous times.

Your mind made up, you thread your way around the scattered mess back to the fireplace.

A wave of your wand and a green fire roars to life. Warmth licks at your cheeks, and you find yourself leaning forward, eager to defrost more of your frozen self.

The heat works with practise to soothe your nerves.

You step into the flames.

"Albus Dumbledore!" The words are torn from your throat, and then you are spinning away into the unknown.

* * *

Nausea rises and fades within you like the tide; you can feel the beginnings of a headache pound away where you cannot reach and soothe it away.

You do hate to travel by floo. The fireplace spits you out somewhere unknown; you have your eyes closed and you are, while the bile sits in your throat, disinclined to open them.

You decide enough is enough; you prise your eyelids apart and are relieved to note your stomach stays intact.

Albus Dumbledore's office comes in to view around you.

Wood is your impression, wood and silver and trinkets and a decent library. Dumbledore's office has always been a place of serenity; it has a sort of mysteriousness reminiscent of thought.

The old bearded man himself is sitting behind an overflowing oak desk with his head buried in wrinkled hands. His white beard stands out in startle comparison to his black robes. Dumbledore hasn't looked up at you and the fleeting thought that maybe you have interrupted something private occurs to you.

You frown, not comprehending the sudden change to a mourner's garb.

Black robes. The Dumbledore you know wears bold, bright coloured robes in ridiculous patterns; never black.

_What has happened for Dumbledore to look so defeated?_

Surely not… The Order. Another death. Oh, no. Not Sirius, not James or Lily...

Your eyes burn. You shift, considering that perhaps you should come back another time, but your body hasn't been in your control since you knocked on your apartment's door. You move forward languidly, your fingers twitching spasmodically.

"Professor Dumbledore?" The words come out in a whisper.

You have reverted back to the title you are familiar with in your terror, although Albus Dumbledore hasn't been your Headmaster in many years.

You stand now in front of Dumbledore's desk. Absentmindedly, you stretch an arm forward, to do what you cannot say, but before it matters, Dumbledore has shocked himself out of his motionless stupor.

"Remus," Dumbledore croaks.

You regain composure enough to hold yourself formally, with your hands clasped behind your back so he can't see them fidget. If it is bad news he is about to spill next, you don't want to know, not yet. Not before you have seen Sirius.

After your latest mission for the Order, there is not much more bad news you can take.

The lines around Dumbledore's ancient eyes are deeper. His eyes are rimmed red. They hold so much emotion; you refuse to analyse and decipher any of it.  
With no small measure of relief you regain control of your brain to shut out the theories that have been steadily brewing away.

"What happened?" Resigned. This war has been a lost cause right from the very start, you think.

You stare at Dumbledore's crooked nose.

_How many times has it been broken?_

It is nought but a distraction.

"Remus," Dumbledore repeats, stronger this time, almost like he knows you are blocking, well, everything out.

A heartbeat, a pause, a recess in the conversation.

"I think you already know." Said gently, with compassion.

You are _this close_ to the edge; the suspense that has been building up is getting to you.

_No_, you think.

You _really_ don't know why you can't find your lover, or why everything smells of _death_.

Your pent up anger is released from its meagre bonds; targeted straight at poor Dumbledore himself.

"No, I don't _know_! What I _know_ is that the day I get back from one of _your_ missions, I might add, I arrive home only to find that my apartment has been ransacked and Sirius isn't even there! I don't have left at my disposal an address or-or- I think we deserve just _one night together_ after everything we've done for you-"

Rambling. You are rambling your thoughts and things you have wanted to say for a while now… yet you are not quite sure if this is the time to be pouring feelings out relentlessly.

You are usually so collected and calm. _Renowned_ for it.

Dumbledore _takes it_. He sits quietly and lets your tirade wash over him until you have lectured him hoarse and there is nothing left to say.

They say you are the reasonable, logical one.

"My dear boy. Why did you not come here first?" He asks when you are numb.

"I wanted to see Sirius."

Was that petulance?

_Are those tears?_  
"Of course. Of course. Oh, my dear boy. It's my fault. I am so terribly sorry. I am so sorry." Dumbledore's voice breaks.

You say nothing, drawing out the silence until he feels obliged to finish what he started. You will not consciously allow yourself to draw to conclusions.

_Even though you have much more than an inkling._

"James and Lily… have passed."

You acknowledge this with an 'I know'.

And then you collapse.

_Dumbledore was right._

Because you did already know.

Deep down, you already knew.

You knew when there was no answer.

You knew when you were standing in the hallway for too long.

Your world is knocked off-kilter.

You mumble his name, into your palms.

It is messy, this business of crying. Your hands are wet and you can taste salt and snot and blood from where you have gnawed your teeth and bitten your lip.

"I should have known. I should have- Sirius was not the most reliable of men…" Dumbledore stutters, sounding far away and helpless.

You feel no sympathy for this man who is taking all of the blame for his own.

In many ways, it is _selfish_.

_You must look like such a coward, curled so pitifully on his rug._

You are closer to animal than man.

For the first time, you _want _to be werewolf.

You want to be able to convey your pain.

Sirius Sirius Sirius

Traitor Traitor Traitor

You want to shriek at the top of your lungs and howl your loneliness to the world; you want to rid yourself of this _anguish_

You want to go back to_ Before_

Your heart, that shattered, glass thing held together only by glue and the tape Sirius wrapped around it, swells to double its size in your chest.

It _explodes_.

And you scream, and you scream and scream scream scream

_Traitor_


	5. Brilliance

**Author's Note:**

**Written for the Summer 2013 Wizarding Modly Forum Wide Competition of Awesomeness**

**Challenge 5 (Potions)**

**Option C:** Five points from Ravenclaw are taken off for your lateness. However, there's a chance you can impress Professor Scrunchy so much she will forget your house and give you ten or even fifteen bonus points. Does this seem worth it? If so, write a story about a character having a "moment of brilliance". It must be able to fit into the canon universe and be exactly 781 words [no wiggle room]. There can be no wishy-washiness in potions: steps must be carried out exactly.

**_Ravenclaw; Wand (unknown); Full score (PM please)_**

**Words:** Exactly 781.

* * *

_**Brilliant. **_

It is a word he has heard too often.

It is a word never once used by anybody in association with him.

_This time, however, is different. _

He has an idea. And it is **brilliant**.

(if he does say so himself)

_Truly_ **brilliant**.

(It was a long time before Peter worked out what, exactly, was _meant_ whenever someone described something as **brilliant**, but this, assuredly, is)

**Brilliant** was a word he heard most when they were at Hogwarts, for Sirius and James were regarded as the _most_ **brilliant **of their year level.

Peter however, knew Sirius and James personally.

And they weren't **brilliant**

(not at all)

no matter_ how_ often they claimed to be so

no matter _how_ often Remus

_gushed_

that they

_actually were_

beneath their _**utter**_** arrogance** and _**prideful**_** egos**.

Sirius Black and James Potter have

_never _

showed

exceptional intelligence

or

remarkable skill

(except on the Quidditch pitch, and even then, they had the back up of the rest of their team, so it hardly counts)

Sirius and James got lucky on tests and _cheated_ on exams.

All of their '**brilliant**' prank ideas were _stolen_ and copied from books.

(How could everybody have been so stupid to believe 'Sirius and James' made sense paired with the word '**brilliant**'?)

Even now, when they are fighting in this war, Sirius and James are the ones getting in the

_most_ **dangerous**, _idiotically _**reckless **

of situations.

So, _no_

Peter does _not_ believe the **faith** that

Sirius and James are

**brilliant**

holds any weight.

If Peter were to point out someone who did come close to being **brilliant**, it would be  
Lily Evans and Remus Lupin.

At Hogwarts, Lily and Remus always came a _**close**_ second to Sirius and James.

(If Peter is honest, the only reason they never _surpassed_ Sirius and James is because they weren't smart enough to realise one didn't have to take one's _own_ test)

And, yet

Remus was never **brilliant** enough to stop Sirius and James' _antics _

(he still can't, even though they are all older now, and supposedly more wiser)

And Lily, _**for Heaven's sake**_, gave up so much for _James _

**of all people**.

(Lily is going to marry the git. They say love is **blind**, but maybe they really mean  
_fools fall for fools_)

If Lily and Remus

really _were_ **brilliant**

they wouldn't have been so _taken in_ with Sirius and James.

_And they wouldn't still be, would they? _

**Brilliance**.

Sirius and James,

Lily and Remus,

they have _none_ of it

(or too little to be **significant**)

Albus Dumbledore too is also consistently labelled as

**brilliant**.

Peter knows better.

Dumbledore really is just an _old man_.

(His **brilliant **days are _long_ over)

This war is **over** his head, and the only thing he is doing is _losing_ it for them.

Peter remembers how Dumbledore failed to see the **Death Eaters** disguised as _children_, walking the corridors of Hogwarts.

Dumbledore is too **blind** to see what's _right under his nose_.

(Once upon a time, Dumbledore may have been sharper, but that isn't right now, is it?)

Maybe Peter hadn't been the _cleverest _when he attended Hogwarts, but he had been nowhere near as _dumb_ as Sirius and James.

(It's not as though _he_ ever attempted to blow up the Giant Squid)

Peters understands that sometimes he is a bit _**slow**_ to gather what everybody else has.

He is _occasionally_ clumsy, both literally and figuratively.

Lately

_however_

Peter has started to see just how_ intelligent_ he _is_ compared to the

hopeless

he _dumbly_ surrounded himself with all those years ago

(They must have rubbed off on him)

**Brilliant.**

It is official.

Peter knows now the secret to **brilliance**. It is what he has_ suspected_ all along.

No one is **brilliant**

but everyone is good at _**pretending to be**_.

They simply tell a lie, here and there, and manipulate with long words.

(He knows he can do that, if Sirius and James have managed to, all of this time)

His idea is so_ simple_, it is a wonder no one thought of it before him.

(_Okay, so it isn't any wonder_)

What they are doing _isn't_ winning them the war.

The Order missions are _pathetic_

_And so_

he has decided that the best,

(and only way)

to go about achieving peace once again,

(_**brilliance**_)

is to swap sides.

(Become a double agent)

_He knows he can do it._

He will become the Dark Lord's most faithful, trustworthy of servants, and when he does, he will play him.

When Peter _succeeds_

(for there is absolutely no chance he will fail)

he will have show them.

_He will have show them all. _

The

_most_ **brilliant**

of them

_**all**_

is secretly

_**him**_.


	6. Rarity to be Sure

**Author's Note:**

**Written for the Summer 2013 Wizarding Modly Forum Wide Competition of Awesomeness**

**Challenge 6 (Flying)**

**Option A. **You've never flown before, but you're certain that you're a natural! Your Task: Write a fic that's enthusiastic and happy! Stipulation: Your story must be less than 100 words [with no wiggle room], must be related to flying, and MUST tell a story. Any interpretations permitted. But be careful! Curb your enthusiasm and don't go over the word limit but still convey a tale - if you fail at any of these tasks, you might fall off your broom!

**_Ravenclaw; Wand (unknown); Full score (PM please)_**

**Words:** Exactly 99.

* * *

He told her to stand just so, then removed her blindfold. She gasped.

"Sev! What is this? You're teaching me to fly?"

_Not quite_, Severus thought giddily. He swung himself onto the glossy, new broomstick he had been saving for a long while to finally purchase.

He had never ridden it before. He had also never told Lily he loved her, but tonight would change both of those things.

"Are you sure about this?"

"I have never been surer in my entire life." Severus affirmed honestly.

Her uncertainty washed away, and Lily beamed brilliantly, moving gracefully to copy him.


	7. Edges

**Author's Note:**

**Written for the Summer 2013 Wizarding Modly Forum Wide Competition of Awesomeness**

**Challenge 7 (Surprise Duelling)**

**Option A:** If you have been PMed the colour pink, you have lost the duel and ended up in the hospital wing! The good news is that you don't have much energy so you only have to write a fic containing one or two characters. The bad news is you have to take various potions so your fic must use six of the ten prompts above, and due to a side-effect of one of the potions, memory loss, your character or characters can't be from your house or the house of the person you duelled.

_Ten Prompts:_ heat, determined, box, charm, first impression, see, 21st, wall, uneasy silence, fight

**_Ravenclaw; Wand (unknown); Full score (PM please)_**

* * *

Every day she got that _little_ bit closer.

Some days were better than others. Some days she was able to leap and bound her way to what she liked to call the Edge (yes, the Edge _needed_ that capital E). Other days she had to work her way forward _sslloowwllyy_, only able to move inch by precious inch. What was worse than moving tediously, however, was not moving forward _at all_.

There was only one person in the world keeping Bella sane, and her methods were by no means _orthodox_ (Andromeda was, after all, just another mad Black herself).

Andy would creep up behind Bella. She would take care to see that her sister was seated, and then Andromeda would run her fingers _carefully_, _gently_ through her sister's hair, untangling the curls Bella couldn't be bothered to brush. Predictably, Bellatrix would relax into her sister.

Bella was lonely. All of the Blacks were _lonely_, per se, since human contact was mostly certainly frowned upon. Andy preyed on this: twisted it to her advantage. Bella would lap up the undivided attention and general warmth and kindness she could so rarely get anywhere else, and then before Bella's sleepy, dazed mind became conscious of it, Andy's patient hands would _fist_.

Andromeda would _pull_ and _yank_ her sister's black hair_ hard_ and Bellatrix would be dragged _backwards_ without permission.

Bellatrix's retaliation would be to dig the nails she had sharpened with a blunt knife into claws in and _hold on_. Eventually, always eventually, Andy would give up and move on, with a whisper of _tomorrow_ breathed into her sister's ears to invoke fear into her.

Bella hated those days when her sister came to save her. Andy just didn't understand how much Bella didn't want to be _trapped_. Bella didn't want to be encased in this pristine vision of _normalcy_; she wanted _out_.

Bellatrix was very, very close to falling off the Edge. If Andy wouldn't pull _so_, Bella would already be there and _flying_, but at least Andy's constant interferences gave her time to physically prepare herself.

She had already destroyed her hairbrushes. She cast 'diffindo' repeatedly on all of her clothes to give them that _stressed_ look; she tore up her schoolbooks and practised her cackle in front of the mirror (_every_ mirror or shiny surface, really, that she had happened by).

Lately, she had begun to see_ It_ in their eyes, and thereby she knew it was nearly _time_.

They couldn't hide It. They _feared_ her. They feared what she was becoming; they feared what she was going to do. And how could they _not_?

Fear wasn't enough for Bella. The coming of fear was certainly the catalyst for what happened next, but Bella wanted to invoke _Jealousy_ in people. She wanted _followers_, and _admirers_: she wanted _respect_ for daring to become insane.

Bellatrix had been determined, and she was close to receiving her reward masked as leap of faith. She had become quite successfully wildly unpredictable: she wouldn't have it any other way but to _finally_ jump off her Edge.

Bella's chance came in the unwitting form of Charles Lewearn.

Her first impression of Charles had been of a mud-blood Gryffindor _smart boy_ with neat features and height to his advantage. Bella had caught sight of him_ watching_ her sister, and knowing her sister would hex him into oblivion if Andromeda caught him at it, and thus adding fire to her own cruel streak, Bella had left the poor boy to defend himself.

Boys had an irksome habit of falling head of heels for her sculptured younger sister, and Bella had steadfastly ignored this since Andromeda had always dealt with it practically (or as practically as a Black was _raised_ to deal with unwanted attention).

Something, however, this time, was _different_.

Andromeda seemed to actually _like_ this boy.

Bellatrix was flabbergasted. Andy was a _Black_! Andromeda knew exactly what that meant so what was she _playing at_, becoming this boy's girlfriend and acting a complete _fool_?

And then the thought struck Bellatrix.

Andromeda was _bewitched_.

Lewearn had no doubt slipped her a love potion, hence the complete_ disregard_ Andy now seemed to have for what was proper: consorting with a mud-blood when _no less _than a pure-blood was definitely _not_ correct.

Bella had risen to the occasion, seeing her chance to both _save_ her sister, and cause some _dastardly_ happenings that would be _most_ beneficial to her own needs.

She caught him, alone, in a corridor.

The charm she sent at him from her hiding spot was just to measure him up, but it worked a treat. Lewearn tripped, his papers and books spilling out of his clumsy hands, and Bellatrix stifled a giggle.

Lewearn caught her off guard when he retaliated.

"Expelliarmus!" Bella's wand _soared_ without permission away from her, and she pouted, feeling put out that he had skipped the _attack_. She waltzed into his line of sight.

Lewearn pushed up his glasses, squinting. He frowned, confused.

"_Aw_. Stupid _Charlsie_! You've gone and ruined the fun!" Bella had other tricks up her sleeve, of course. And a few hidden traps, but he wouldn't yet be knowing that.

"Wait- Bellatrix Black, right? You're Andromeda's sister!" Lewearn exclaimed. Bella halted in her tracks, ice filling her veins.

_He had the nerve to bring up Andy to her face_?

Lewearn gave a giant sigh of relief, and Bellatrix found it within her to stalk a bit closer.

"So nice to finally met you! I have heard all about you from Andy, of course. Er, you gave me a bit of a fright just then-" The Gryffindor's words cut off abruptly.

Bellatrix's hand had found its way to the boy's throat.

"Um, Bellatrix?" Choked out. Lewearn's face was slowly turning red, his hands grasping at Bella's robes. Her expression settled into well-worn arrogance.

"Do you know who I am?" A hesitant, confused nod.

"Do you _know who I am_?" A furious shake of the head, Lewearn's eyes bulging out of their sockets.

Bellatrix let out the breath she had been holding in unconsciously.

"_Well_ then! Let me_ show_ you, mud-blood who dares touch my sister!" Bella's eyes flashed dangerously, and she cast a wordless spell to collect her wand.

Whilst Bella was distracted, Lewearn struck. He bit down on Bella's arm, and she hissed, retracting her hand. Her temper rose like a friend to defend.

"You _foul_-"

"Don't-you-_dare_-call-me-a-mud-blood!" It was now Bellatrix's turn to be surprised at her opponent. She also felt an undeniable _interest_ at the Gryffindor's reaction to the name.

"Mud-blood!" Bella taunted. She grinned the way she knew made her look most crazy, and Lewearn _roared_.

Bellatrix hit the wall. It was funny, but she hadn't even seen the spell coming for her. Bella swore, colourfully and imaginatively, using the time to regain her balance, and then she decided to go _all out_.

This mud-blood interfered with what _was_ in Bellatrix's world, and so she would show him.

Bellatrix twisted her words into threads of dark magic, learned from a heavy tome she had divulged in secret.

A caught-off-guard, angry Lewearn went head-over-heels himself. Slamming down into a crumpled mass on the rough stone floor, Lewearn did not move again.

Bellatrix, upon seeing this, cackled.

"You _see_, Lewearn? You see, _wittle bittle Charlesie-Warlsie_? Bella's just _too good_ for you, isn't she? Yes!"

She danced on her tiptoes in the same spot, wheezing slightly around a sore spot in the middle of her chest, but laughing _long_ and _delightfully_ nevertheless.

The fight (if one could really even _call_ it that) had been _hers_ from the very _beginning_.

Her Edge was_ gone_.

Bellatrix _revelled _in this, so much so that she forgot to check Lewearn was actually _out_.

Bellatrix did not see who cast the final hex to bring her to her knees, but the wispy black smoke rising off of her skin gave _her _away.

* * *

**I'll be the first to admit this could have been a lot better, but unfortunately I had little inspiration and a fair bit of writer's block. **


End file.
